Born to Motherhood
by MidsummerNightGirl
Summary: Molly Weasley  nee Prewett  was always a mother. Before she had her own brood, there was Gideon and Fabian to look after!
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Readers, _

_Here is my new stories, don't worry the others will be updated soon. _

_Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling (Shock! Horror!) _

_Warnings: None _

_Merci Beaucoup to my amazing beta, Wise Girl Weasley. This story was not possible without her. _

_Happy Reading_

_-Midsummer Night Girl _

_**This Story is called: **_

_**Born to Motherhood**_

Chapter 1:

Although only a few people are mothers from the moment they enter the world,  
Molly Prewett was one of those people. From the first moment that she had  
nestled against her mother's bosom, Mrs. Prewett had the feeling that she was  
being mothered and comforted- not the other way around.

From an early age, Molly Prewett was like another mother to her older twin  
brothers: Gideon and Fabian. The moment she was in their direct proximity,  
they stopped thinking of mischief and looked at the baby, careful to not  
roughly play, lest their mother drop a ton of bricks onto their heads.

Why? Well, the tale went a little like this…

Gideon and Fabian were only three years old when Molly came along, but when  
the little babe was but four months old, a great plan was concocted. Mrs.  
Prewett had cocooned Molly safely inside a washing basket. She was placed  
amongst the sheets and her neck was safely supported. However, this was the  
moment when Mrs. Prewett committed a vital mistake- the poor woman turned her  
back. When she turned it back 'round again, the basket was gone.

Short of having apoplexy in the laundry, Mrs. Prewett knew that there was  
nothing she could do except to find her twins. She knew, of course, that they  
would have some part to play in this situation. Besides, apoplexy was for  
frail women who couldn't think for themselves, even when they did lose the  
baby. Mrs. Prewett was many things, but she was not a frail woman.

A simple 'point-me' spell and some well-performed dramatic footsteps confirmed  
Mrs. Prewett's accusations. The twins had her baby.

"What are you doing boys?" Came the exclamation. She wasn't frightened or  
really even angry; there was just mere frustration in her voice. She hadn't  
taken the time to give the children a proper look, or to see what torture the  
twins were inflicting on little Molly.  
"Mummy, we was just taking Molly to…"  
"Play with her."  
"That's all… really mummy…"  
"We didna hurt her…"  
"She isn't the cat…"  
"In the mad game…"  
"We wasn't even…"  
"Playing the mad game."

What Gideon started Fabian finished. It was always the way with the twins. The  
"mad game" involving paint, mud, the family cat and a knitted sweater was  
always the same. The noise was always the same, the mashed banana on the  
walls was always the same, and the universal truth that quiet indicated  
mischief was always the same for Mrs. Prewett…except for this time.

Mrs. Prewett had a proper look, and saw that there was nothing wrong with  
Molly. The sheets cocooning her were nice and clean still (disturbed only  
slightly!). Her neck was still supported and her face wasn't painted. Still,  
something wasn't quite right.

"What did you do boys?" Mrs Prewett adopted her 'interrogator's face' and  
leant right in to view her boys. "Why did you take Molly?"

"Well… we was going to play the crazy game."  
"But then Molly had this face thing." Fabian made an odd sort of face.  
"Like when you do that face that makes us sit prop'ly"  
"Or Grandad says "BOYS!" and you do what he says"  
"Or like dad when…"

"Yes, that's enough I understand. Thank Merlin you didn't harm Molly then."  
The boys face glimmered with hope- were they off the hook?  
Mrs. Prewett didn't fail to notice this.  
"But, because you took her when you weren't supposed to, you can go and hunt  
for eggs in the yard." Both boys scampered off- only slightly dejected. It  
wasn't a harsh punishment; they could have been in time out with the worst  
consequence- being separated- but with egg hunting they only had to deal with  
recalcitrant chickens and no eggs to find- they had been collected in the  
morning, straight after the laying.

Mrs. Prewett walked over to her baby, freed the little girl from the basket,  
and snuggled her close. Mrs Prewett might have said that she understood, but  
really- it was a mystery. How did her little babe stop the boys from playing  
whatever the 'crazy game' is? Did it really need understanding? Maybe it was  
complex, magical, baby emotions radiating from the little girl, or maybe it  
was just the boys feeling protective. Or maybe it was nothing, and she wasn't  
raising two twin monsters after all.

With this happy thought, the mother placed her little girl back into the  
laundry basket, took the basket into her arms, turned on her heel and walked  
back to her kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Hi, _

_Many thanks to my Beta 'Wise girl Weasley'- she is a legend _

_Enjoy:_

_I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER…SOB_

Born to Motherhood

Chapter 2

Molly was now five years old, and every bit as involved in the housekeeping as her mother was. As Mrs. Prewett scrubbed the big oven and hung out the laundry, Molly swept with her little broom, washed up her dolly's tea party dishes, and made sure that Gideon and Fabian were always clean before they entered the house.

On one rainy day when Mr. Prewett was balancing the accounts, Molly stopped the boys from driving their parents insane. When the sun finally came out and Mrs. Prewett was airing out the mattresses, Molly would lie on the feather filled blocks in the glow of the afternoon sun and make sure the cat didn't leave fur everywhere. She even kept the garden gnomes in check, which held her in the upmost respect.

When Molly wasn't living 'house,' she was playing it. She had a family of dollies to reign over, and, as supreme matron of the doll's house, everything ran according to plan. Although her brothers tried to simultaneously paint the cat, eat cake, and steal their father's broomstick, they didn't dare interfere with the dollhouse.

Molly never told tales on her brothers, because if they made her upset she would send them to Coventry, refusing to talk, engage, or smile. Within a minute, the twins would pry her from this state by apologizing, promising never to do it again, and sending her off with a tickle. Occasionally from the twins there would be the moans about how unfair it was that Molly didn't have to pick up firewood because she didn't make a mess of glue in the parlour, or that she was never sentenced to standing in a corner as a punishment, or how Molly never, ever had to de-gnome the garden. What the boys didn't realize was that at age five, Molly was a perfect little angel. Her fiery temper would kick in later when her sense of justice and innate Gryffindor qualities- having lain dormant- would suddenly awake.

MPMPMPMPMP

4.00am Monday 7th July 1953

Molly awoke suddenly. She sat up in her bed, and her little five year old body shuddered as she heard a scream from outside. She strained her ears wondering if anyone would wake up to hear what was happening. All she could hear, though, was the sound of the twins breathing through the paper-thin  
walls, and the creaking house. Then the scream echoed through her body again.

Molly could never ignore someone in pain. Slipping out of bed and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes, the little girl tip-toed out of her room. Her nightdress, embroidered with lilac-coloured thread, reached her ankles and kept her body warm. Her feet, though, were bare and Molly was experiencing the odd pain of frozen feet.

As she slowly opened the screen door to avoid a particularly loud squeak, the scream grew louder and louder in her mind.

Soon the sound became unbearable, and just as Molly opened her mouth to scream away her anxiety, the noise became sobs. Deep, pitiful, mourning sobs. Molly continued to follow the moans. She did not have to go far, for lying in the shrubbery was another little girl. She was also in a night gown, coloured emerald green, yet unlike Molly this little girl was clutching her stomach and almost convulsing with pain. Molly knew what she had to do.

She reached out and placed a comforting and warm (-ish) hand on the shoulder of the crying girl and, making soothing noises, soon had the girl coddled into an embrace.

"Shh, Shh don't cry, what's your name?" Although only possessing five years of wisdom, little Molly Prewett knew exactly how to comfort.

Several minutes passed before the little girl in emerald green raised her head,  
"My name is Bellatrix, Bellatrix Black."

_AN: Suspense much…_

_Molly faces enemy in childhood _


End file.
